


Until you call me

by raziella



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean is a drunken ass, Drinking, Episode: s07e06 Slash Fiction, Gen, Lonely Dean, POV Outsider, Pre-Episode: s07e07 The Mentalists, Sam Has Issues, Sam is a bit wired, Season/Series 07, Serial Killer Dean, Swearing, The Winchesters live scary lives, The boys are fighting, but not really, even without context, outsider gets involved in their shit, they'll probably work it out though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 06:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5575015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raziella/pseuds/raziella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam’s the first one to give in and call his brother after that fallout they had over Amy.<br/>If only Dean had his phone.</p>
<p>In which Dean gets drunk and loses his phone, and someone gets a surprise call from Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until you call me

**Author's Note:**

> AU in which Sam calls Dean somewhere between Slash Fiction (7.06) and The Mentalists (7.07). 
> 
> Warning for some swearing and much drinking.
> 
> This was just a plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone, so here it is. Also I have a weakness for random civilians getting pulled into their shit (and not dying).

Dean was trashed. Utterly and completely.

He knew it was a stupid move and his old man would have chewed him out for leaving himself defenseless when any number of evil wanted his head of a platter. Quite literally. _Hah!_ Still funny.

He knocked back another glass and gestured to the cute with teeth behind the bar. It could have been a night of sweaty bliss but he’d put that thought to rest when he’d ordered three double whiskey in quick succession. Now she looked at him with a small frown. Contemplating cutting him off. If he hadn’t held his liquor as well as he did she would have thrown him out half an hour ago.

It wasn’t his fault she didn’t know he’d been drinking since before he got his learner’s permit and he deserved some time off. He ignored the voice in the back of his head that said he’d had his time off, four days in a row this week and he might not have to worry about fucking leviathans if his liver gave out first.

He was just tipping back the, he admitted to himself, probably last drink for the night when some jackass walked into him. The bar wasn’t _that_ crowded so he turned around to glare on principle, his whole front was covered in the amber liquid and he wasn’t looking forward to getting this stench on the leather in his Baby.

“Sooo sorry, man, I’m so fucking clumsy”, the barely legal guy was saying, fluttering with nervous fingers across Dean’s chest like he wasn’t sure if he should try to _wipe_ it off or _back_ off.

The adrenaline ran off Dean and he just grunted in response, “Yeah, whatever”, and turned around.

He ordered one more just for the heck of it; he hadn’t got to drink his last one anyway.

*

It was just approaching closing-time when he climbed off the chair and staggered off to his car. He wasn’t driving in this condition, but he figured the backseat was better than passing out on a bench. He had standards.

He was settling in, damning the idiot one more time when the wet fabric clung like a foul smelling second skin and he twisted around some more to breathe in the smell of home from the holster instead.

On his fifth twist in four minutes he rammed his fist into the back of the front seat and only felt vaguely guilty. He stared at the ceiling for another minute and then snuck a hand into his front pocket to collect his cellphone.

It wasn’t there.

Sure, he had another three phones in the glove compartment, but that wasn’t the point. This was his emergency phone. His other _other_ phone which everyone he cared jack about knew to call him on if it really mattered.

He pushed away the voice in his mind that reminded him that most of those everyone where either dead or didn’t know him anymore.

_Sam_.

The thought threw him into such a fit of panic he hurriedly pulled open the door and just managed to wrestle himself into position so the projectile of puke didn’t hit his car.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Dennis wasn’t such a lowlife scumbag of a thief that he stole from any piss-poor bastard hanging out at The Shack at half three in the morning, but he’d kept close watch on Mister Double Whiskey, Neat since early in the night when he had marched in here with a mission.

He was big, could easily take Dennis and half the bar out if he felt like it. The tense muscles in his shoulders whispered that he might feel like it, but he only ever sat by the bar and continued ordering.

It had become clear pretty fast that he was there to get hammered so Dennis sat back. In the late hours when the crowd thinned out, Dennis had worried that if he missed his target he might be in deep shit but he sat on his hands and sipped on his second beer, feigning a relaxed pose.

When it was time, he paid his tab. He was lucky this place charged for beer like it was coming out of the tap or he would have had to have insisted on water. He wiped his palms on his pants and stumbled over to the guy, pushed himself over him and quickly swiped the front of his pockets.

When the guy turned around it didn’t matter that he was plastered. It didn’t matter that he smelled like the dumpster behind a bar. His eyes shone of awareness and intent. It wasn’t a trick when Dennis’ fingers shook, an inadvertent attempt at salvaging the situation. Sometimes his mousy face and puny eyes were a real blessing.

He made his way quickly for the door after that awkward exchange.

Outside he looked down on his loot. Not the wallet he had hoped for but at least a phone, he needed one, twenty dollars and a freaking knuckle duster. A habit of getting into fights then, he thought, somewhat relieved it hadn’t turned into a brawl.

He took off toward the bus stop, he wouldn’t catch anything before the first morning bus rolled by but he thought the wind shelter was worth the boredom of waiting. On the way he fingered the home button. He’d have to switch out the SIM card; only a moron didn’t have a passcode these days-

The home screen lit up and he huffed at his luck. He opened up the internet app but off course there was no wi-fi within a ten mile radius. He did catch a glimpse of the internet history, though. He’d always been a bit too curious for his own good.

 

_Freak accidents_

 

_Wild animal attack_

 

_Suspicious deaths_

 

_Missing person_

 

So Mister Double Whiskey was a bit of an odd-ball. Whatever.

He went into contacts and balked. He had four numbers listed. _Four!_ No one had only four numbers. Was this guy born under a freaking rock or what was his problem?

Sam was the most frequent caller, although Bobby came a pretty close second. Sonny, Annie and Frank Devereaux were all contacts that had not called or been called. Devereaux only had an address listed.

He spent a while just scrolling the small list up and down top to bottom without lifting his thumb, sort of astonished he could.

Man, this must be the loneliest guy in all of history.

At the very top was an icon happily claiming ME: Dean Winchester.

Dean Winchester.

The name rung a faint bell at the back of his mind.

 

He arrived at the bus stop and flopped down on the bench in the shelter. He opened the gallery.

His first thought was that he must be watching some police shows and took a lot of screen shots. He saw bodies, blood, police tape, inscriptions and pictures of houses, faces, cars. The list went on. There was even a picture of what appeared to be an altar of a satanic cult.

With a dawning realization that this was empathically _not_ from a TV show, Dennis almost dropped the phone. Either this was the phone of a psychopath or he had just stolen from a cop. He didn’t know which prospect was more terrifying.

With a sick fascination, like watching a car crash in slow-motion, trembling fingers took him to messages.

 

_Nothing with the Johnsons. Trying with the sister next._

_Meet you at the morgue?_

_Yeah I’m just finishing up here_

_Please don’t tell me if you finish with the aunt._

_Your mind is a dirty dirty place sammy_

_Don’t forget pie!!!_

_I’m hitting the library on this one. Something is off about Simmons’ story._

_Hey lance pick up some beer on the way_

_Something suspicious with dear Dr. Redman. I’m heading to the hospital._

_You wait for me you fucker or so help me god_

_Bring me beer_

_And pie_

_I’m literally in the same room as you._

_Don’t matter if you ignore me_

_Jerk_

_Bitch_

 

and

 

_Can you identify this claw mother? It ain’t nothing I’ve ever seen before_

_Youll need to stack up on silver for this one_

_We’re heading over to your place after this_

_Theres a case in minnesota that you might wanna take look at im thinkin shtriga_

_Send an address_

_Might be needing you back here soon_

_On our way_

_Borax n decapitation is the way to go keep the head separate_

_Got it_

 

Now Dennis was no expert but he was pretty sure at least some of this was against standard protocol for even high up agents. He scrolled through some more of the conversation and pointedly did not wonder about the suddenly cut off conversation with Sam from several days ago.

 

_I get it, it was a dick move. Can we just get over this?_

_It was a monster, you know it had to be done_

_She was gonna kill again and if you weren’t wrapped up in gooey childhood memories you would realize that!_

_There’s a case in Montana, you taking it?_

_She couldn’t go on, she had killed FOUR people already_

_I do feel bad about the kid but he said he had places he could go_

_I’m not apologizing for going with my gut instinct_

_It’s what we’ve been taught since before we could ride a bike_

_What did you expect me to do?_

_Sam_

_Sammy_

_Answer me_

_Sam_

_Fuck you_

Dennis wasn’t sure but that sounded awfully much like Dean had gone on a binge and- No, but surely not. But is sounded exactly like Sam was upset because Dean had _killed_ someone…

The memory suddenly slammed into him; on every news channel, not even that long ago, two serial killers named Sam and Dean Winchester going on a psycho road-trip through the country. They were still reporting about their shoot-down, for Christ’s sake!

Dennis hands turned very sweaty. He had just had a close encounter with the most whack-job of a decidedly not dead murderer and stolen his freaking phone where all of his four freaking contacts were. Suddenly terrified the man was going to track him down he searched frantically for the GPS button and almost cried when he saw it was turned off.

Wait, couldn’t police and shit turn the GPS back on via the phone company if it was stolen or someone went missing? What if Dean freaking Winchester managed to track him down and- but no, he couldn’t go to the police. He’d be taken into custody before he could state his business. Right?

Fighting off hyperventilation he didn’t even feel the vibrations when the phone started ringing at first.

_SAM_

His stomach knotted itself into a tight ball of agony and his teeth clattered not just from the cold.

For a crazy second he considered answering it, just to see what would happen. He would talk to a psycho, that’s something to tell people about. It could be fun. A hysterical laughter bubbled up from his chest. Freaking hilarious. Especially when he was murdered and probably carved into pieces and fed to dogs or something.

Then another horrible thought followed.

If nobody answered it might be enough for Sam’s and Dean’s squabble to turn into one of those _it doesn’t matter, you were in trouble_ , and together they would hunt him down and- This was not productive for brain-work.

He could have just found it on the ground. A Good Samaritan would pick it up and hand it into the police, if not for finding money than from the goodness of their heart. He could be a good person for five minutes.

“Hello?”

His voice crackled after breathing too fast, not talking and choking fear down for the past three minutes.

“Who is this?”

Oh crap, why did he do this again? He should have just ditched the phone and ran. Well, too late now. He wished he had talked to his mother one last time.

“Yeah, hi, I umh- I just found this phone…”

“No, you didn’t. Where is its owner? Is he okay?”

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t know it was… um I just, I can return it, or leave it somewhere or something… Please, just-“

“I don’t care about the phone. Where is Dean? Did you see him when you took the phone?”

A small voice in Dennis’ mind said, see, when in danger all that resentment goes out the window. Listen to that worry… It doesn’t matter what he did, you will always forgive him-

His stomach did a flip when he remembered that Dean probably _killed_ someone, probably killed many, probably enjoyed it and that Sam helped him.

“Answer me!”

He jerked back into reality.

“Yeah, he’s trashed. Drunk off his ass. Was still in the bar when I left. Again, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know who you were, please don’t kill me.”

There was a tense silence on the other end.

“You know who we are?”

That seemed like a pretty dumb question. They’d been on the news every day for two weeks by now. There wasn’t a person in America who wasn’t blind, death and dumb who didn’t know who they were. Then again, it was well into the wee hours and Sam might not be the smart in the equation.

_Hey hey hey hey hey! Keep that up! I didn’t say you could put that down! I want the whole world to know what Sam and Dean Winchester are capable of._

Then again, maybe neither of them were.

“Well, yeah… I saw you… on the news…”

There was a strong exhalation over the phone.

“That’s not- We’re not-“. It was clear the man was quite agitated over the news thing. “Look, I’m not gonna kill you. And neither is Dean.” There was a _probably_ trailing after that sentence that both participants chose to ignore. “Just tell me where you are so I can go get him.”

“Yeah I think I prefer to be a few thousand miles away from here before I give you my location.”

Where the hell did that confidence suddenly come from? His heart thumped like crazy while he waited for Sam to lose his patience and threaten him mortal pain if he didn’t hand over the information.

“Yeah I don’t blame you”, sighed Sam.

What?

“What?”

“Death has a tendency to follow us around”, confessed Sam as if he wasn’t the direct cause of that. This conversation was growing more absurd by the second.

“Ever considered not killing everyone you meet?”

He should just bite off his own tongue and be done with it. Or hang up the goddamn phone.

Sam surprised him again by huffing out a laugh.

“I suppose you would say that knowing what you and the rest of the country has seen of me and my brother.”

“What would you say?” and okay this is apparently turning into a therapy session now. Or cognitive training, like his sister kept going on about. Turn the questions back to the subject, let them figure it out by actually looking for their own solutions.

He was clearly going into hysterics, he thought as he tried to turn off the psychobabble.

“It would be nice to catch a freaking break.”

“Why do you say that?” What was the matter with him?

“It’s always something, you know. Stop the apocalypse, lose your soul. Close purgatory but release the leviathan. It just feels like it never stops…”

Okay, so that was not the answer he was expecting. A religious nut case then. But what the hell was a leviaton or whatever?

“Well, kill people and you’re bound to lose your soul eventually, right?” he said, somewhat jovial. He couldn’t feel his hands.

“That’s not- Sorry, I got a bit sidetracked. Is there any way you could just turn the GPS on and leave it there?”

Right, still in possession of psycho and psycho brother’s phone. He looked down the path the bus was going to come from. It was pitch dark, not even a lonely truck driver on this small road.

“Where are you at right now?”

After a brief hesitation, “Illinois.”

That was still a solid 15 hour drive up to Wyoming, and that was breaking a few speed limits.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll leave the phone at a bus stop maybe two miles from the bar he’s at. I’ll turn on the GPS when my bus gest here. Until then, start driving west. Good enough?”

“Sounds good. Thank you, really. My brother can be a real dickhead sometimes.”

Dennis chooses not to mention that he knows it was Sam that broke contact.

“Yeah, I know the feeling. Got a sister back home.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. Don’t tell the psycho anything personal that will help him track you down, you idiot!

“So, anyway, take care.”

“Sure, you- you too, Sam.”

He hung up, stared down at the phone for a couple of seconds and then did either the most moronic thing he’s ever done, or the most genius. He wrote down the number of Sam Winchester.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my tumblr: http://whinchesters.tumblr.com/


End file.
